NOVEL NEXT Chapter 73 : Back to Academy [2]
The points were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. One hundred of them.
A direct injection of raw power. Combined with his Limit Break skill, he could become a real beast, even if only for a minute.
He lay on his bed, the blue screen of the system hovering in front of him.
'Now, how should I distribute these?'
He thought about just maxing out one stat. Pumping everything into Strength would let him punch through walls.
Pumping it all into Aether would make his threads a thousand times stronger.
But then his hard-earned points would be gone, and his other stats would still be pathetic.
He needed balance. He needed to be a survivor.
His eyes went to the bottom of the list.
[Luck: 5 / 100]
He stared at the pathetic number.
'This,' he thought, a grim certainty settling over him. 'This is the main problem.'
He was always dragged into the worst possible messes.
Wrong place, wrong time, every single day. His life wasn't bad luck; it was a curse written into the bones of this world.
He didn't hesitate.
'Distribute 45 points to Luck.'
The number shifted.
[Luck: 50 / 100.]
It was still a coin toss, but at least it wasn't guaranteed disaster anymore.
Now he had 55 points left. He put 22 into Strength, bringing it to a respectable 40.
He put 18 into Aether, raising it to 30.
That left 15. Agility to dodge. Endurance to survive. Intelligence for Limitless Comprehension. Everything mattered.
Everything except Charisma. He had more than enough infamy already.
He sighed. He couldn't choose. So, he pulled out his "genius IQ cheat system" three scraps of paper. On them, he wrote "Agility," "Endurance," and "Intelligence." He crumpled them, shook them in his hand, and picked one.
He opened it. "Agility."
'Fine. Agility it is. At least I'll run faster when life tries to kill me again.'
[CONFIRM STAT DISTRIBUTION?]
"Yes."
---
[◈ STATUS MANIFEST ◈]
[Name: Azrael Ashveil]
[Rank: Expert]
[◈ CORE ATTRIBUTES ◈]
Strength: 40 / 100
Agility: 32 / 100
Endurance: 18 / 100
Intelligence: 13 / 100
Aether: 30 / 100
Luck: 50 / 100
Charisma: 20 / 100
[◈ AFFINITY ◈]
Primary Slot: Thread Affinity (Tier: Intermediate)
---
The moment he confirmed, he felt it. A wave of pure, clean power surged through his body.
His muscles grew denser, his bones harder, and his balance sharper. His thoughts clicked into place with new clarity.
His cursed luck finally felt like it was bending, just slightly, in his favor.
He flexed his hands. Clench. They felt alive.
'Not weak anymore. Not today.'
Now that this was done, his mind turned to tomorrow.
Celestria had pulled strings to get him reinstated at the academy.
Life was about to return to normal. Or, what passed for normal in a world where the plot itself wanted him dead.
'Tomorrow, the final exams begin,' he recalled from the novel's timeline. 'First the written test - magic theory, battle strategy, and geography. Then the physical exam, a one-on-one knockout tournament.'
But he wasn't concerned. Not because he was leaving for Elarion soon, but because he knew the results would never matter.
In the original story, the physical test was interrupted. Demon followers attacked, turning the field into chaos. And that was when Selvara revealed her betrayal.
He sighed, pressing his palms to his face.
'I wish she'd change her mind. I wish she'd choose the other side.'
The truth was simpler. The author had cut the tournament because it was boring.
A filler arc where Kaelen would crush everyone.
No rival, no suspense, just a golden prince bulldozing weaker students.
Even Seraphina wasn't on his level at that point. So the story skipped straight to bloodshed.
'Classic author move,' Azrael thought bitterly. 'Less effort, more drama. Throw in a demon attack and call it a twist.'
He closed his eyes.
'Let's see how the story plays out this time. No more casualties.'
---
He woke the next morning feeling refreshed, his body humming with quiet strength.
The academy grounds were alive with nervous chatter, students hurrying with scrolls and notes clutched tight.
Azrael walked with calm, steady steps, a lone shadow among anxious faces.
Elvara sat inside the examination hall, her hands clasped in her lap. The massive chamber was silent, every sound swallowed by its vaulted ceiling.
But her thoughts weren't on the test.
Her mind replayed the days in broken flashes. The festival, the firelight, the dance. The way he had looked at Selvara. The way he had looked at her.
'He's a puzzle,' she thought, biting her lip. 'He can be cruel, sharp enough to cut Seraphina to pieces. But then he can be kind, like he was to that little boy… and to me.'
Her cheeks warmed as she remembered his words.
"You are the one piece I chose to set free."
It was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her.
She glanced at the doors. The usual chaos he brought was missing.
The room was too calm. Too normal.
And she hated it. She found herself missing the storm. Missing him.
The heavy doors creaked open.
Azrael walked in.
He looked different. Taller somehow, sharper, like the world had bent just slightly around him.
His walk was smooth and confident, his shoulders straight, his violet eyes scanning the room with unsettling calm.
Elvara's heart leapt, and before she realized it, a wide smile spread across her face. She froze, horrified, and ducked her head.
'Why am I happy? Stop it, you idiot. He made your life hell. He—' her thoughts faltered, '—but he also gave you a future.'
Azrael ignored the whispers and stares, walking down the aisle. He sat at a desk in the back. The exam proctor, a stiff-faced professor, dropped a stack of papers in front of him.
Azrael flipped the first page. The question made his eyebrow twitch.
"Calculate the trajectory of a Tier 3 fire spell in a crosswind with forty percent humidity, factoring in the Aetheric resistance of a standard defensive barrier. Show your work."
He looked around. Every student was already writing furiously, their quills scratching, brows furrowed in focus.
He leaned back, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
'I'll just write anything. It's not like these will ever be checked.'
He dipped his quill into the ink. The tip hovered over the page, ready to scribble something ridiculous.